Reputations
by lifeluver
Summary: It's really not all that shocking that a reputation would come between you.  After all, if the self-proclaimed stud of the school starts slumming it with the resident queer class differences are bound to ensue.  Puck/Kurt one-shot.  Warnings: Abuse


**Reputations**

It's really not all that shocking that a reputation would come between you. After all, if the self-proclaimed stud of the school starts slumming it with the resident queer class differences are bound to ensue.

For the first few months of your _thing_, or whatever you want to call it (definitely not relationship: the word burns your tongue every time you let it slip) you refuse to acknowledge your newest fuck-buddy during school hours. When Kurt comes into the choir room you glare at him until the other boy takes the seat farthest away from you.

You flaunt your conquests in front of him purposefully. A few random freshman Cheerios, then Santana, then Rachel. Each time you walk down the hall with a new girl on your arm you watch as his eyes grow colder, harder. The night after you seduce Mercedes right in front of him he lets you fuck him in the ass for the first time. You think it's the first time you've ever felt wanted by someone, _needed_ by someone. It's a perfect mix of pleasant and utterly terrifying.

For once you're someone's first choice, their only choice, and you lord it over him cruelly, leaving him alone in his bedroom with possessive scratches marring his porcelain skin without bothering to get him off.

The bullying increases. You knows you're overcompensating but you can't help yourself; every time you catch yourself staring at Kurt's tight ass as he swishes down the hallway like the queeny fag he is you have no choice but to ruin the bastard's knee-length fuzzy sweater with a deadly mix of corn syrup and ice.

You make up for it later by yanking him into a bathroom stall and tearing the destroyed garment to expose the soft, creamy skin underneath. Your apology comes in the form of a quick hand job with his back pressed against the toilet paper dispenser.

Things go on like this for a while: you fuck him hard and fast in secret and push him away every time he tries to get close. You bite, but you never kiss. You keep the lights off, you shut him up with a light slap when he moans your name. Your trysts are governed by a set of unspoken rules. The phrase _it's not gay if_ becomes a part of your daily vernacular until you've made enough exceptions to fill a book.

It's weird and dysfunctional and not at all what you expected when you started the school year screwing MILFs and your best friend's girl, but despite everything you find yourself almost happy.

It can't last forever though. Four months into what is admittedly the best sex you've ever had things start to change. It's subtle at first: he blows you off one afternoon to work in the shop with his dad. A week later, he's out the door before you've finished fastening your belt buckle without so much as a wave.

You break your own rules and look for him during school, trying to catch his eye. He doesn't glance your way once. His eyes are cold, and you can't remember the last time he strutted down the hallway in those freakishly tight jeans for your benefit, a knowing, mischievous smile playing on his lips. Something clenches in your chest and it takes you a minute to identify it as fear.

You, Noah Puckerman, are actually scared of losing out on free, constant sex with that prissy queer.

But you're not the badass of the school for nothing, and as you told Finn a lifetime ago, you could wear a dress to school and people would think it's cool. Plus, with the whole baby thing with Quinn public knowledge and Finn still not talking to you, your rep is pretty much in the dumpster with Hummel anyway, so might as well seal the deal. You think as you fall asleep that night that as far as Big Gay Crises go, you've handled yours fairly well.

The next day you seek him out, and in between third and fourth period you corner him in the hallway, shove him against a locker, and lean in to make the gayest nonverbal statement ever in front of the entire student body.

You never get the chance though, because Hummel's girly fists push against your chest and you stumble backwards, more out of surprise than actual force. "What the hell are you thinking?" he hisses in your ear as he yanks you into an empty classroom by your collar.

"Are you insane Noah? Everyone could've seen that!"

You almost laugh, because he's really not getting it. "I don't care, dude. Let them watch." You lean in but he stops you again with his hand.

"You may not care, but _I _do. And I'm not letting my friends and family know that I'm desperate enough to whore myself out to the first former and occasionally current bully who takes an interest in fucking me. This thing between us stays a secret, or it's over."

You stare at him blankly for a minute, ignoring the knots forming in your stomach. His eyes are blazing, and you can detect something behind the way his mouth twists and his features clench. It's the same look you've seen when you look in the mirror ever since handing Quinn those wine coolers. Finally you turn on your heel and walk out the door without a word.

Two days later he gives you head under the bleachers before school like nothing happened. That afternoon you slushie him all over that precious black Marc Jacobs jacket he loves so much, and high five Karofsky as you walk away without glancing back.

After all, appearances are everything.


End file.
